


Of Boroughs and Unsteady Friendship

by Orolly



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, sprace
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 09:42:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17547272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orolly/pseuds/Orolly
Summary: The first time he met Spot Conlon, Race didn’t know what to think. He expected someone older, for one thing. The kid couldn’t have been any older than he was, and 12 years old didn’t seem old enough to be running any borough, let alone Brooklyn.





	1. 1

The first time he met Spot Conlon, Race didn’t know what to think. He expected someone older, for one thing. The kid couldn’t have been any older than he was, and 12 years old didn’t seem old enough to be running any borough, let alone Brooklyn. For another thing, he wasn’t any taller than Race. He was cocky, it was clear he knew what he was doing, and Race felt out of place standing near Jack while he and Spot had a conversation.

Race shuffled awkwardly while Jack and Spot talked about some issue or another with Queens. He didn’t care much for all of the politics or whatever that being a leader came with, he didn’t even know why Jack had asked him to come along. He busied himself with picking at a loose string on his shirt. It was game night back at the lodging house and that was way more interesting to Race than this. 

Jack put a hand on Race’s shoulder, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Oh, I had something I wanted to ask you.” Jack said, pushing Race forward a bit. Race looked at Jack, confused. 

Spot narrowed his eyes. He doesn’t say anything but he nods for Jack to continue. 

Jack clears his throat. “Racetrack here,” he shakes Race’s shoulder in emphasis, “likes to spend time out at the Sheepshead. I was thinkin’ it might be good for him to be able to sell out there, save him some time. Word is you ain’t got nobody out at the track, so he wouldn’t be steppin’ on anyone’s toes.” 

Race looked at Jack in total awe. He would love to sell at the track, he knew people there, he knew he would do well, and god, it would save so much walking. Race smiled at Jack gratefully. 

“Why would I let him,” Spot jabbed a finger harshly into Race’s chest, “sell with us?” 

Race glared at him. “You afraid of me or something?” 

Jack slapped Race in the back of the head. Race didn’t have time to react before Spot was in his face. 

“Talkin’ to me like that could get you thrown outta Brooklyn for good.” Spot says lowly. 

Race raises an eyebrow. “It could, huh?” 

“It could.” 

“So why don’t it?” Race smiled. 

Spot stared at him for a while, not saying anything. He glanced over to Jack. 

“He can take the Sheepshead.” 

——-

Race started selling at the track the next day. Jack spent the walk home the night before lecturing him about how stupid it was to talk to “The Spot Conlon” like that, and “if you do something stupid in Brooklyn, I’ll soak ya before Spot gets a chance,” and on and on and on until Race finally got him to change the subject. 

He picked up his papers with the rest of the newsies and headed for the bridge with a pep in his step that he didn’t usually have. 

What he didn’t expect was to be followed around by Spot all day. 

Spot never came up to him, he just watched from a distance. Race was frustrated by it. He sold a few more papers before he couldn’t take Spot just watching him anymore. 

He stomped over to Spot.

“What the hell do you want.” Race hissed. He’s more than capable of selling on his own, he doesn’t need a baby sitter. He smiled kindly at a lady that buys a pape from him, then turned back to Spot with fire in his eyes. 

Spot smiled and looked around casually at anything but Race, like he owns the place, which ended up making Race angrier. “Jus’ wanted to see how you Manhattan boys work.” 

“I don’t need ya to watch over me. I know what ’m doin’.” 

“I can see that.” 

“So go watch over somebody who needs ya.” Race pulled his hat lower and spun on his heel. He had half the headline out of his mouth before Spot had a hand on his wrist and was pulling him back. Race shoved him off and was about to give him a piece of his mind but Spot beat him to it.

“Who do you think you are? Talking to me like that, dontcha know who I am?” 

Race rolled his eyes. “You ain’t all the stories say ya are. Youse the same age as me, I ain’t scared a you.” 

Spot’s eyes went cold. “You should be.” 

“Give me a good reason to be and then we’ll see.” 

Spot looked at him, and Race wasn’t quite sure what he was thinking, but he didn’t have long to process it before Spot let go of him and disappeared into the crowd.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Race makes some friends. Maybe.

Race sees Spot less over the next week, he seems to have laid off a bit, and Race couldn’t be happier. The track starts to feel more and more like home. Towards the end of Race’s second week of selling at the track, Spot comes to talk to him. 

“Racetrack,” Spot said, spitting in his hand and offering it out. 

Race spit in his own hand and shook Spot’s. 

“Conlon.” 

Race pulled his hand back. Spot gestured for Race to walk with him, so Race followed. 

“I’ve been thinking, if youse spending so much time here, you might as well meet some of the others. Why don’t you come over to the lodgings some time? We do poker some nights, you’re welcome if ya wanna stop by.” 

Race nodded, thinking it over. 

“I could never turn down a game.”

Race thought he saw Spot smile, but he couldn’t be sure. 

“Tomorrow night then.” Spot placed a hand on Race’s shoulder then changed direction, leaving Race to find his way home. 

Race ran into Jack before he got the chance to go to bed. 

Jack tried to make small talk about selling, the weather, whatever, Race wasn’t listening. 

“Spot wants me to play poker with Brooklyn tomorrow night.” He didn’t hear what Jack was saying, nor did he care, but Jack had fallen silent and Race chewed on his cigar hoping he would say something. 

Race glanced at Jack, who was busy kicking at the dirt. 

“Well?” 

Jack sighed. “I dunno Race, you spend a lotta time over there already.”

“You ain’t actually in charge of me.” Race pointed out. Jack shot him a look and Race put up his hands in surrender. 

“You can do what you want, but ’m sure Spot’s not doin’ this out of the goodness of his heart. There’s gotta be somethin’ else goin’ on.” 

“Maybe ’m jus’ likable.” Race smirked at Jack. 

Jack laughed. “Sure, kid.” 

—

Race was anxious, excited, but anxious. He sold all of his papers with a nervous smile. His mind was swirling with the excitement of meeting new people, but also the dread that Spot might just be using him like Jack thinks. Jack is being ridiculous though, this was all his idea in the first place, having Race sell here.

Race couldn’t quite clear his head, and as soon as he sold his last pape, he’s off to the Brooklyn lodging house. He’d recently taken to chewing on cigars. Some older Newsie had given him one and told him it helped with the weird feelings in his chest, so it might help Race. Race didn’t know about all that, but it gave him something to do. He didn’t light it ever. He liked having it too much and he didn’t think he’d ever make enough to afford one.

The lodging house was busy and Race felt a little overwhelmed being surrounded by kids he didn’t know. They don’t pay much attention to him, and nobody tried to talk to him. Race leaned against a wall and chewed on his cigar. Maybe he shouldn’t have come. He was just about to leave when someone put a hand on his shoulder. 

“Hey, Racetrack! You made it!” Spot smiled at him, and it looked kinder than it normally did. 

Race narrowed his eyes. “Said I would.” 

Spot’s face straightened out. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to the boys and then we can get started.” 

Spot lead Race away from the crowded bunk room. The room they end up in is more like a dining room, there's tables and some old chairs, but it feels comfortable. 

A few of the Brooklyn kids were there, ranging in ages and all looking at Race like he's an interesting headline. 

Race scowled. Spot laughed at him.

“Alright, so this is Racetrack.” He pointed to Race, and the other newsies stared at him. “And, this is Blue, Hotshot, and Stitches.” Spot pointed to each Newsie respectively. 

Race nodded in greeting. 

Spot sat down and Race did the same and the game began.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I don't usually write, it's not something I'm comfortable with but I really like Sprace and I wanted to put something out there of my own, so here we are! Comments are nice! Thanks for reading!! Follow me on tumblr @orollyitsracetrackhiggins or my art blog @orolly


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